Because I Love You
by CJ.Ruru
Summary: "Why are you here? After everything I said to you… I even hit you… why haven't you left? Or h-hit me back…?" "It's because I do love you." England gets drunk after a bad fight with America. When America comes back to apologize, it's not as easy as he thought. Rated T for slight language and violence.


"B-bloody hell, you damn git!"

America had to dodge another hit from his drunken/hung over boyfriend. This seemed to happen whenever the two of them got in a rather bad fight. America would storm off childishly, England would drink until he's pissed, America would come back to apologize, and England would be a drunken drama queen. However, this was the first time the Brit ever tried to _hit _America.

"C'mon England… calm down…! It's alr—"

"It's not alright! You bloody left me! Again! You sodding, no good twat!"

This time, America was caught off guard when he felt a rather hard slap to the face. Hard enough to knock his glasses off.

"Ow! England!"

The American knew better than to hit the drunkard back because of his inhuman strength, but that slap really did hurt! With a sigh, America rubbed his cheek, and glanced to the side of him where his glasses. Sure the world looked blurry to him, but he could live for now. Calming England down was much more important than getting the glasses back. Besides, England would probably just end up slapping them off again, so what was the point?

England stared at America, listening to the younger nation yelp out in pain. He just hurt him. He hurt America. Physically. How could he ever do that to the one he loved so much? The one who loved him?

America didn't love him. He was only using him for a stupid game, or whatever. He was young, ignorant, and bratty to understand what it truly meant to love someone. This whole thing was probably just a stupid game to him! God, he should have known better than this. Known better to than to ever trust that dumb American with his heart when all he was going to do was break it.

"Tch…"

"England…"

His cheek still throbbing, America inched closer causing England to stumble backwards, and tripping on his feet about to smash into a bookshelf, but America quickly caught him causing him to squirm.

"Let go of me, you bloody prat!"

England kicked and thrashed trying to do everything to get out of the American's grip. Why was he so strong?

America did everything to keep England in his hold. The Brit kicked his gut, smacked and punched his back, and basically just screamed drunken, meaningless yet harsh words at him. With a sigh, America did something he instantly regretted which was picking the Brit up over his shoulder only to get a nice kick to the groin. Whether that was intentional or not, America wasn't sure, but he didn't have time to think about that. Right now, all he could think about was the pain heading south.

"Dammit, England!" he cursed while dropping his English boyfriend on the couch and falling on his knees. "That… that really hurt, dude…"

Emotions seemed to all dive in and out of England while staring at America on his knees. How could he hurt his love in such a way? No, he probably deserved it. He was a selfish, idiotic arsehole. But… they loved each other… No. England loved him. America would never love him back, even if he said it. Why would he? Why would anyone love him? He couldn't think straight. He couldn't tell if he was drunk or hungover. Everything was just horrible right now, and England fought back the pools of swarming tears filling up in his emerald green eyes. His normal thinking was mixing in with his drunken thinking, and that only made him feel even worse!

Then he noticed America again. When did he get on the couch with him? Wasn't he just on the floor a minute ago? America sighed, and tried to give England a tiny smile as he said in a rather teasing tone,

"You really can be difficult, can't you~?"

That sure earned him another slap against his already red and throbbing cheek. Same one, too. America should have known better to joke at this point in time. With a wince, and slight whimper, America glanced back to England to see the Brit giving him a rather troubled look. Almost as if he was debating on if he had done the right thing or not. He then heard England say in a sour tome,

"If I'm so _difficult_ then get out."

America blinked. Get out? What? No, that wasn't happening. He didn't mean that England was difficult, he was only joking! But can a drunkard really tell the difference between a joke and truth? Giving another small and weak smile, America inched closer over to England as he said softly,

"C'mon, England, I didn't mean tha—"

"Didn't mean it, huh? Well, what else don't you mean, America? Hm?"

He didn't yell, or scream or anything of the sort. He just seemed to have a rather empty expression on his face while staring America down in a harsh way. Looking a bit confused, America tilted his head a bit and questioned softly,

"What… what do you mean…?"

England scoffed and crossed his arms while narrowing his bushy eyebrows.

"Tch, don't play stupid with me. You don't mean anything you say, do you? Well?"

"England, I—"

"Never mind, let me answer that for you," he interrupted. "You _don't_ mean what you say. You _don't _love me, do you? This whole relationship is probably just a sodding joke to you, isn't it?"

Now, England's tone was getting louder, and harsher. What the hell was he talking about? Didn't love him! Was he insane? Before the Brit could say another word, America had him pinned under him, and on the couch glaring himself now. His sight was still blurry, but not blurry enough to not see England.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me how I feel, England. Don't you _fucking dare_ tell me I don't love you."

America's eyes were now narrowed with crystal pools beginning to fill up in them, and even spill out a tiny bit. When they did, his tears fell onto England's face, who just was in total shock of his reaction coming from America. With a tilt of his head, he's able to finally muster one last question.

"Why are you here? After everything I said to you… I even hit you… why haven't you left? Or h-hit me back…?"

America continued to glare down at England, but eventually, his eyes began to lighten up, while his lips trembled. He collapsed on top of England, nuzzling the Brits chest, and beginning to cry silently.

"It's because I _do love you._"

Soon enough, America looked up again when he felt a tight, yet gentle pair of arms embrace him, and he heard the soft, sweet returned words he was looking for all night.

"I love you, too America. I'm…I'm sorry…"

**A/N: … Yeah. You guys like this? I just wrote it at 4:30 in the morning, and now it's 5:30. So it took me about an hour to write. I don't know why, but I just kinda woke up, listened to some music, then this idea popped into my head! Odd, right? Well, anyways. I hope you enjoyed it~. A friend of mine and I do a lot of USUK rps, and in the beginning of them, I remembered how drunk and miserable England used to get around America when they fought, and yeah. ._. This was born. Enjoy, and please review~!  
(…)**


End file.
